I took it personally when Julio Franco announced his retirement a week and a half ago in Mexico.

Everyone knows Julio's story by now. His last season in the big leagues was 2007, when he played for the New York Mets at age 49, one year short of his goal.

I guess he's not going to make it, inasmuch as his 50th birthday is Aug. 23. I suppose a team might ask him to make a token appearance as a way to capitalize on the promotional value of his situation, but if Julio didn't believe that he could compete, that is contribute, I don't think he would cooperate, knowing it was a sham.

On the other hand, when Julio retired, he was still producing for his Mexican League club, the Quintana Roo Tigres, for whom he was batting .250 with 15 RBI in 128 at-bats. He even had three steals in four attempts, tying two others for third on the team.

''It was the hardest decision of my life,'' Julio told a Mexican reporter. ''I always said I would be the first one to know the exact moment. . . . I understand that my time has passed, and that great men and athletes know when to say enough.''

A little background

Julio played 23 years in the big leagues with the Indians, Philadelphia Phillies, Texas Rangers, Chicago White Sox, Atlanta Braves, Tampa Bay Devil Rays and Milwaukee Brewers, in addition to the Mets. In addition, he played in Japan, Korea and for two teams in Mexico.

The Hall of Fame probably won't come calling to ask which team's cap will adorn his plaque. If his career had played out a little differently, Julio would be an inductee as early as 2013.

He amassed 2,586 major-league hits, drove in 1,194 runs, scored another 1,285 and stole 281 bases, succeeding 72 percent of the time. Not bad for a guy who was a middle infielder for most of his career.

But those numbers are unlikely to get him into the Hall. If he had avoided taking his skills to three foreign countries — where he collected 790 hits — it is almost certain he would have surpassed 3,000 major-league hits, 1,500 RBI and 1,600 runs.

Julio was selected for three All-Star Games, won five Silver Slugger Awards and captured the 1991 American League batting title, one of four top 10 finishes. He was among the top 10 in on-base percentage and hits four and five times, respectively, ending his career with a .298 batting average, even though he played semi-regularly into his mid-40s.

If Julio has regrets about the improbability of him taking his son, Joshua Cesar, to see his Hall of Fame plaque, he hasn't expressed them.

Wild and crazy days

Julio talks about being a great man. Certainly he has become wiser and developed an air of dignity I never would have imagined when he was young. When he came to the Indians as a 23-year-old (he said 21), Julio was wild and carefree. Money was something to give away to friends, or people he thought were friends. He was easily scammed.

Julio hired a so-called strength coach who advised him to eat a pizza at 1 a.m. every day. One spring training in Arizona, he took me for a ride in his new BMW, and while he was careening down one of Tucson's busiest streets at 60 mph in second gear, he insisted that the manufacturer of his radar detector would pay if he got a speeding ticket. We had a little disagreement about that.

When teammate Mel Hall invested in an $8,000 Rolex, Julio felt compelled to buy a $50,000 Rolex, which I believe he paid off in 50 monthly installments.

Two or three years into his career with the Tribe, he pulled me aside and said he wanted to make a million dollars. I told him I did, too, and so what? If he didn't get it, he would demand to be traded. I said he could demand anything he wanted, but he would be ignored by Gabe Paul, president of the club.

The next day, the team flew to Minnesota. Julio and I happened to be in the dugout long before the game was to begin. Twenty-four hours after he said he wanted to be traded, he decided he wanted a multiyear contract.

''I thought you wanted to be traded,'' I said.

''Well now I want a long-term deal,'' Julio said.

Since he had no leverage — he wouldn't be a free agent for at least three more years and arbitration had not become part of the Basic Agreement — I reminded him that Paul would offer no more than a one-year deal. We argued about that for awhile.

Julio began his career with the Phillies and was dealt to the Indians at the 1982 winter meetings. When he arrived at Cleveland Stadium for a news conference a few weeks later, he hadn't thought to bring a coat (maybe he didn't own one), but $5,000 was stashed in his sock.

When Julio was through answering questions, he asked two of his own: Where are the casinos in Cleveland, and could he take the Chief Wahoo backdrop wall hanging back home to the Dominican Republic.

He also wanted to make one thing clear: The Phillies had erred in listing his age as 23 in their media guide; he was only 21, and he fabricated (we found out years later) a story to explain the discrepancy.

Close acquaintance

In case you hadn't noticed, I have disregarded the newspaper convention of using a person's last name after introducing him in the narrative. I said that I took his retirement personally. I have known Julio from the first day he set foot in Cleveland, and the end of his playing days serves as a reminder that I, too, am much closer to the end of my career than I am to the beginning.

I became a closer acquaintance of Julio's than most reporters do of most players. Carmelo Castillo, who lockered next to Julio in the old stadium, once remarked when he saw us bickering, ''You guys fight so much it's like you're married.''

Julio played for the Indians longer than any other team — all or parts of eight seasons — but during the last decade of his career, I seldom saw him outside of spring training.

Over the years, he became a different person, not as much fun as when he was young but far more responsible. He also acquired the insight to realize his rare good fortune to be able to make a living playing baseball.

''You know, I want to manage in the big leagues,'' he told me a couple of years ago.

I asked him if he was willing to start in the minors.

''Of course; that's where you learn,'' he said, almost annoyed that I would ask.

''I hope you don't ever have to manage someone like you,'' I kidded.

The truth is that Julio would be only too lucky to manage someone like him.